Frayed Ties
by Snarkymuch
Summary: Bucky never went looking for his family, afraid of what he'd find or what they'd think of him. He thought if they were out there, they would be better off without him. It wasn't until a little boy who shared his name ducked into the coffee shop to hide from a fight that his feelings changed.


The bell above the door to the coffee shop chimed, and Bucky looked up just in time to see a kid no older than ten barreling through the door.

Setting his coffee down, he eyed the kid over. The boy had a mop of brown hair and brown eyes to match. His lip was split and bleeding, his knuckles red, and he was peering through the window of the door as if he thought he'd been followed. It was clear the kid was in trouble, and given that he was the one hiding, Bucky assumed he wasn't the aggressor.

"Buck?" Steve said, making him turn to his friend. Steve had a brow up, a piece of muffin held close to his mouth.

Bucky nodded his chin toward the boy, and Steve followed his gaze, his brow furrowing upon seeing the kid.

The boy turned away from the door, his eyes quickly searching the small coffee shop before he paused on Bucky and Steve.

"Hey, kid," Bucky said, "you alright?"

The kid licked his lips and then pulled a face when his tongue hit the blood. Touching a finger to his busted lip, he shrugged a shoulder and pulled himself a little taller. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Bucky raised a brow. "That busted lip says otherwise. Why don't you sit and we'll call your mom or someone to come get you." He gestured to open chair at their table.

The kid's hands flexed in and out of fists for a moment before he nodded and walked over. "I'll sit but no calling my mom. I promise I'll be fine—I've had worse."

Steve shifted in his seat, a frown touching his face. "We really should call someone."

The kid scowled the best he could, but the swollen lip ruined the look. "I ain't calling my mom. She'll just get mad that I've been fighting again, and it wasn't even my fault this time."

"You do this often?" Steve asked.

The kid slumped back in his chair, touching a finger to his lip again. It must be hurting. "Only if they have it coming. Maybe if they'd leave my friend Corey alone, I wouldn't need to get involved."

Steve huffed a laugh, shaking his head a little. "Well, I can't fault you there. Looking after your friends is important, but you should be careful. You sure there's no one we can call?"

The kid deflated with a sigh. "Not really. Everyone's working but Grandma Becca, and she never hears the phone." He looked down at his hands, knuckles still red. "I'll be alright. It's already feeling better."

"If you're sure," Bucky said, noticing the way the kid kept glancing at the door, "but why don't you hang here for a bit longer and make sure whoever's after you is gone?"

The kid glanced up at him, brows pinching together. "I won't be bugging you?"

Bucky picked up his coffee, taking a sip. He shrugged. "We weren't doing much anyway. It's no problem."

The kid relaxed back in his chair a little and began fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt.

"So," Steve started, "since we're sitting together, why don't we introduce ourselves. I'm Steve and that guy there is my best friend Bucky."

The kid started, his head snapping up and turning to Bucky. "Your name's Bucky? Like for real?"

Bucky's brows lifted, figuring like most, the kid thought it was a funny name. "Yeah, is that a problem?"

"It just weird—"

"Look, kid," Bucky interrupted. "Weird or not, it's my name."

The kid shook his head, eyes wide. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just meant it was weird because I never met another Bucky before." He paused, licking his lips. "That's … uh … my name, too—well, my nickname."

That surprised him, even Steve looked a little taken aback.

"Oh, well, you're the first Bucky I've met, too," Bucky said. "It's nice to meet you."

The kid blinked at him and asked, "Is it a nickname? Like me?"

Bucky nodded. "It's short for my middle name. What about you?"

"Same, I got my real name from my great … uncle? I don't know. He was my Grandma Becca's brother—she's actually my great-grandma. Anyway, she says he died during the war, that he was a hero, but I don't know what war it was—just that it was a long time ago."

Steve glanced at Bucky, and Bucky could see the gears turning in his friend's head. Steve wasn't the only one whose mind was quickly jumping to conclusions, conclusions that didn't seem possible. Bucky couldn't entertain those thoughts. He didn't want to get his hopes up like that. The odds seemed impossible.

Steve eyed him for a moment longer before commenting slowly, "Well, do you know who they were fighting? The Germans?"

The younger Bucky frowned at that and tilted his head. Looking at him now, the way his brow wrinkled, Bucky could see his little sister in the boy. "Umm… maybe? I remember she said something about him fighting some really bad people who were killing for no reason—lots of people died," he finished quietly.

Steve ran his thumb over the rim of his cup, nodding lightly. "And you said his name was Bucky? Like you?"

The kid nodded. "Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes, same as me," he said proudly, "except I'm not a Barnes. I'm a Proctor."

Bucky froze, his limbs tensing then locking as he stared at the little boy in front of him. He could see it. Just add a couple of freckles along his cheeks and nose, add a pair of braided pigtails, and the boy was the spitting image of Becca.

He swallowed thickly and started in a voice just shy of trembling, "You know, I think my grandpa might have fought with your great uncle in the war." He paused, looking to Steve for strength. His friend nodded. "Do you think—do you think I could meet your Grandma Becca, to pay my respects?"

"What's pay respects?"

Steve cleared his throat. "It's when you give condolences for someone's loss."

The boy seemed to chew on the thought for a moment before coming to a decision. "Okay, I guess. She doesn't live far from here, so we can walk if you want."

Bucky's body seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy. He was hopeful and scared at the same time. He'd hoped his sister had gone on to have a family, but he never dared to dream that she was still alive.

What was he going to say? Would she even recognize him after all these years?

He decided that even if she didn't recognize him, it would be enough just to see her again. It had been so long since he heard her laugh or seen her smile. All he had left was fragmented memories—wisps of things that he could barely hold onto. The chance to see her again meant everything.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he got up, waving at the kid to lead the way. Giving Bucky a bright smile, he scampered out, making the older Bucky walk faster if he wanted to keep up.

The boy was right. It wasn't that far away, maybe a couple of blocks. It didn't feel like enough time to prepare. Soon they came to a stop in front of an old brownstone. It was well taken care of and in a nice neighborhood. A few steps were leading up to the door, wrought iron railings on either side.

The kid didn't pause long at the door, only taking a second to dig a set of keys from his pocket and unlocking the door. "I come here after school sometimes, so dad made me a key," he said over his shoulder. "Come on, she's probably in the kitchen."

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look before following the kid into the house. They could hear the younger Bucky calling to his grandma from down the hall. Steve nodded in the direction the boy had gone, a supportive hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

With a quick look at the pictures on the walls, Bucky followed the excited voice of the kid.

The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked toward the doorway at the end of the hall. He could hear Steve behind him.

The walk seemed to take an eternity, yet was passing by in seconds. All too quickly, Bucky was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at a scene he could only dream about.

The younger Bucky was sitting on the kitchen table, legs swinging as he talked animatedly, but the woman he was addressing couldn't see his wild hand movements as her back was turned. She was stirring something on the stove, every so often a little huff of laughter escaping her at his comments.

Her hair was white but still long, braided loosely. There was a curve to her back that wasn't there in her youth. But even without seeing her face, he knew this was Becca.

His breath hitched, and Bucky took an involuntary step back only to run into a wall of muscle. Steve pressed a hand to his shoulder and murmured just quiet enough for him to hear, "It's okay."

Bucky gave a curt nod and stepped fully into the kitchen, placing his hands in his jeans pockets. Clearing his throat, he asked quietly, "Becca?"

The woman paused and glanced over her shoulder at them, her hand stirring the pot faltered, and her eyes widened.

"Oh yeah," young Bucky's voice cut through the room, "this is Bucky—he has the same name as me! He said his grandpa fought with your brother. Said he wanted to pay respects?"

Becca's eyes glistened as she stared at the older Bucky, and for a moment, it was like time stood still. He drank in the sight of her. She'd changed so much yet not at all. Beneath the years of laugh lines and touches of age, she was still the same girl he'd looked after growing up. His chest ached with so much emotion he felt like he would drown.

Her shaky voice broke the silence. "I'd say you took your time getting here."

Bucky swallowed. "I never meant to be gone so long."

She raised a frail hand to wipe her tears. "And I'm sure you have a story to tell."

"It's not all good."

"The best stories never are." Her head tilted slightly. "Is that Stevie behind you?"

"Hey, Becca," Steve said, his voice warm.

She shook her head with a smile. "I almost wouldn't believe all this if it weren't for seeing you, too. The two of you were always joined at the hip. Good to see some things never change."

Opening her arms, she motioned Bucky closer. "I've been waiting a long time to hug my big brother again, don't keep me waiting."

With tears in his eyes, Bucky crossed the distance and let his sister's arms wrap around him. He was careful not to hurt her. She felt so delicate in his arms.

"I missed you, Becca. I'm so sorry. I should have come sooner." He whispered into her shoulder, fighting his own tears.

She chuckled and slapped his arm, thankfully the flesh one. "None of that. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Bucky grunted in disagreement. "I wish that was true."

She pulled away, placing a hand on his cheek with a little shake of the head. "It is, James. Whatever's happened, you're home now."

Bucky placed his hand over hers, holding it to his cheek. "I missed you, Becca."

The elderly woman smiled softly, but before she could respond, a young voice piped up. "Wait—what?"

The adults turned to see the boy gaping at them. Becca chuckled. "Well, young buck, I've told you about my brother, the one that died in the war."

The boy nodded.

She reached down and took Bucky's hand. "I thought I'd lost him, but, there are many strange things in this world, more than when I was a girl, things we can't always explain."

She glanced at Bucky, her lips curling into a smile before looking back to the boy. "Buck, meet your namesake and great uncle—Bucky Barnes."


End file.
